The Peruvian Affair
Part 2 of 7
By S. Faith, © 2009
Words: 36,242 (This part: 4,725)
Rating: M / R
Disclaimer, Summary, etc. can be found in Part 1.
Chapter 2.
BIENVENIDOS A SR MARK DARCY Y SU ESPOSA
It was Bridget who first spotted the sign at the airport, grinning madly and pointing as they headed for baggage claim. "Oh," she said woefully, "but I don't speak a lick of Spanish."
"I'm sure we'll manage," he said, "plus I brought you a phrase book."
She chuckled. "You always think of everything."
"I do try."
They approached the man with the sign, a distinguished looking gentleman with greying temples, tall, smiling, and dressed in a suit. He spoke before they did. "Welcome to Lima, Señor Darcy, Señora Darcy," he said.
"We're very pleased to be here," said Mark, offering a dazzling smile as he reached to shake hands with the man. She decided at once to let Mark doing all the talking.
"Please allow me to introduce myself, Señor Darcy. I am Luis Domingo," he said. His English was impeccable. "However, I insist that you call me Luis."
"And please call me Mark," he said, then turned to add: "Luis, this is my wife, Bridget."
Bridget held out her hand to him, which he took and very gallantly kissed the back of. "A very great pleasure. Just as lovely as I've heard."
She flushed, her mind racing to think how Mr Santiago might have described her. "Thank you very much."
Luis looked from her to Mark and back to her again, smiling. "I trust you had a pleasant flight?" Luis asked.
"Oh yes," he said. "Very pleasant indeed."
"Very good, very glad to hear. I should, however, like to get you to your lodgings at once. Such a long time in transit, you must be in need of the comforts of home, some lunch, a nap."
Mark smiled. "Thank you. That sounds welcome indeed."
They went to claim their bags, then headed for the car. Bridget squinted in the bright midday sun, realising she'd forgotten to put her sunglasses in her carry-on bag. Oh, for it to be November and to be bathed in such light and such warmth after leaving the chill and gloomy rain of London; she was going to like very much indeed being in the Southern Hemisphere during what she considered to be winter. After Luis and one or two porter types got the luggage loaded into the car, they were off.
She peered through the window as they drove along, gawking as she had when her parents had brought her to London as a child for the first time, overwhelmed by the beauty of the surroundings, the distant brownish and green mountains, vast expanses of blue sky, and gorgeous, unique architecture. She felt Mark gently squeeze her hand, and she broke her gaze at the vista surrounding them to cast a smile in his direction.
"I feel like I'm dreaming," she gushed. "It's so different from England."
He smiled, kissing the back of her hand affectionately; she knew he dared not do anything more until they were in private. "It is gorgeous, isn't it?"
"And we'll be here for a whole month, while all of London is shivering in a damp, fridge-like existence, covered in blankets of snow—"
She stopped short, not believing that she had not thought until that moment what else they might miss back home.
"Bridget, darling, what is it?" Mark asked.
"We'll be here for Christmas, won't we?"
"Well," he said, "that isn't decided yet. The official ceremony for the accord is just before the holiday. We could immediately fly home, but honestly…" He paused, grinning. "…I rather like the idea of spending Christmas, just the two of us in the warm summer sun, with no battles over sieving versus stirring gravy, and instead feasting on ceviche and drinking chicha morada."
From behind the wheel of the car, she heard Luis chuckle. "I see that you have been doing your homework," he said; she'd almost forgotten he was there, so polite and quiet was he. "Though after the work you'll be doing, I think you'll want pisco instead."
They both laughed. Bridget felt kind of foolish.
"I suggested a soft drink," explained Mark, seeing her confusion. "Luis suggested brandy."
"Oh," she said, grinning. "And what's ceviche?"
"Spicy seafood dish I think you will very much enjoy," said Luis.
She grinned. This was going to be much more of an adventure than she'd ever expected.
………
"Mark Darcy. So good to see you again."
Esteban Santiago greeted the two of them at the front door of his home, wide grin in place, arm outstretched to shake as soon as the two of them came into the main house. "You're looking very well indeed. Married life suits you," he continued, then turned his eyes towards Bridget. "And you, young lady—or should I say, Señora—you look as beautiful as ever."
Mark watched as Bridget smiled shyly and tinted pink. "Thank you very much, sir," she said as Santiago accepted her hand, placing a respectful kiss on the back as Luis had done.
"I am sorry we were never formally introduced at our first meeting," he said, "but I suspect you had greater things on your mind that day."
She chuckled. "Very true."
"Come. I'd like to introduce you to my wife before I show you to your cottage. In your place I would want a little rest before the evening meal."
He led the pair into the house, passing through the living room and out the back to a gorgeous mosaic patio with a swimming pool and a view of the green valley around them. It was a breathtaking sight, and Mark realised they would likely have a similar view from their own lodgings.
Under a sun umbrella nestled beneath a canopy of trees sat a beautiful dark-haired woman sporting sunglasses, who, at their appearance, smiled, set the book down she was reading and pushed the sunglasses up into her long hair as she stood. As she did Mark noticed she was dressed in a long, flowing jacket and dress. "Buenos días," she said pleasantly, then switched to English, which was not as good as her husband's but very good nonetheless. "Hello. So lovely to have you to stay with us. You must be Señor Darcy." She came forward and shook his hand. "I have heard much about you, Señor."
"This is my wife," explained Santiago. Mark had heard him speak of her but had somehow expected her to look different, more matronly, considering the man had two grown daughters.
"The pleasure is mine, Señora Santiago."
"Señor, I would hope you to call me as you call my husband, by, as you say, first name. Please call me Mercedes."
He saw a look of confusion cross Bridget's face, but it was not the time to ask her about it.
"And I hope you'll call me Mark," he said in response. "This is my wife, Bridget."
She turned her light brown eyes to Bridget, her smile not changing, though she seemed to be concentrating hard on something. "Oh, a lovely girl," she said. "So very nice to meet you, Bridget." The name sounded a little clumsy rolling off her tongue. Bridget, however, smiled; he knew the Thai women had resorted to calling her 'Bee-shit', and at least Mercedes hadn't said that.
"Very nice to meet you too, Señora," she said, taking the woman's proffered hand and shaking delicately. "You have such a lovely country," she said, "and your house is just… wow."
"Gracias," she said. "Esteban, have you shown them to the cottage yet?"
"No, my dear," he said. "I wanted to introduce you first."
Mercedes smiled. "Then allow me to show them. It is my duty as your wife to make sure our guests are comfortable, after all."
Esteban smiled. "As you wish."
Mercedes led them back into the house, through a door, a short walkway, and into what he presumed was the cottage, though it was much more lavishly decorated and comfortable than any cottage he'd ever seen. "Before they left," Mercedes explained, "my daughters lived here when they reached adulthood. Gave them their privacy while still allowing them to be part of the household."
"It's beautiful," said Bridget. "Did you decorate this?"
Mercedes nodded modestly.
"You have excellent, excellent taste."
"Gracias," she said again.
Mark had been a little worried how she and Señora Santiago would get along, being from different cultures and different generations, but so far, it seemed to be they were getting along just fine. He smiled.
"I trust that Luis has already taken your bags to the master bedroom," continued Mercedes. "Let me show you around."
It was fully furnished on a smaller scale than the main house, Mark was sure, but it was complete in its amenities; full kitchen, sitting room, one and a half bathrooms, a spare room, and a master suite, which to Mark's delight did have the same astounding view as the back patio. "I hope this will do for your stay here," Mercedes said modestly.
"Think it will more than do," replied Bridget. "Thank you so much, Señora."
"The kitchen has some food in it," she continued, "but we would be honoured if you joined us for supper. And Bridget, I must insist that you join me for lunch, too, so that you don't start to feel too lonely here by yourself."
From the look that crossed her face, he started to wonder if Bridget hadn't realised previously that this wasn't going to be like a holiday; she would have her own writing to attend to, of course, but he would have to do a lot of work with Santiago, likely accompanying him to the governmental chambers to do so. "That sounds very nice. Thank you," she said meekly.
"I will speak to my husband," said Mercedes, "and insist to let you rest tomorrow. You need to get acclimated to the differences here, and rest after your long journey."
"That would be very much appreciated," Mark said. "You have been more than kind to us already."
She smiled, broadly and obviously heart-felt. "It is my sincerest pleasure. Now I will leave you to be. There is some lunch for you in the kitchen. Supper will be at six, and you're welcome to let yourself in. We will see you then, sí?"
"Sí," said Mark with a smile.
Mercedes left them and for the first time in almost a day they were alone. He walked over to his wife, took her in his arms, and held her tight.
"Are you hungry?"
"No."
"Do you want something?"
"A lie-down."
He chuckled. "A lie-down it shall be then."
Mark emptied his suit jacket pockets onto the bureau. He had not immediately noticed the key there, probably for the front door; he set his wallet, mobile and the claddagh amulet he took with him everywhere (given to him by his wife for their wedding) with the key.
He realised then he should call home to let them know they had arrived, so picked up his mobile and dialled his mother. She looked quizzical but as his mother answered and they began speaking, Bridget understood what the call was about. The conversation was short and to the point, though she was glad to hear they'd made it safe and sound, and promised to then call Bridget's parents to let them know, too. He returned the mobile to the bureau, then removed his suit jacket and tie.
"So what was that about earlier?" he asked.
"What?"
"When you were introduced to Mercedes, you had a strange expression on your face. Do you not like her?"
"Oh, that," she said, laughing lightly. "Just was thinking, 'Like the car?'"
He could not help but laugh himself. "Wonder if she's ever met Giles' sister." At her blank look, he added, "Portia."
She burst out into giggles. "You can be such a silly, silly man," she said, divesting herself of her knit top.
"My silliness has only been allowed to bloom under your tender care," he said; at the sight of her bare stomach and bra he remembered her wish for a secret assignation in the loo. "You can call her Mercedes, you know."
"No, I don't think I can," she said, wiggling out of the skirt, peeling off the hosiery. "It doesn't feel respectful."
He smiled, coming up behind her and reaching for her bra clasp. "Mark!" she said in a quiet gasp. "What do you think you're doing?"
"You're the one standing half naked getting ready for a lie-down," he said, unfastening it. "You tell me."
She turned and laughed, still holding the bra in place. "In that case, you are vastly overdressed." She reached up and threaded her arms around his neck, kissing him passionately, making him realise how much he had missed her.
"Darling," he said when she broke off for air.
"Hm?"
"Still vastly overdressed."
She giggled again. "Sorry. Could no longer control myself."
"You wouldn't be you if you could."
She climbed into the bed, commenting on how marvellously soft the sheets were, while he took off his shirt, his trousers, his tank and his boxers.
"Oh, you're right," he said, lying back on the pillow. "Very soft." He closed his eyes. Oh yes, he thought. This will do very nicely indeed.
"Mark!" she said.
"What?" he asked, opening his eyes.
She looked crestfallen. "You were snoring!"
He laughed, sat up, and pushed her back onto the bed, onto her pillow. "My deepest apologies," he said, his mouth hovering just over hers. "Please, let me make it up to you."
He then kissed her, and judging from her response, then her cries and soft sounds as he proceeded to make love to her, he gathered that all was forgiven.
………
There was a disconcerting moment upon awakening when Bridget had no idea where she was, but then remembered: Peru. She felt a little sleep-woozy still but she saw the sun was still in the sky. Unless they'd managed to sleep through the night and into the next day, they had not yet missed dinner.
"Mark," she said softly, brushing her fingers along his face.
"Hmm," he replied, not opening his eyes.
"We should get up."
He responded yet again monosyllabically.
"Mark," she said again, a little more emphatically. "If we miss dinner with our hosts it'll be rude."
Reluctantly he opened his eyes. "Am now wishing we had hotel," he teased. "I'd be calling room service."
She chuckled, leaning forward to kiss him. "Did you sleep well?" she asked.
"Like a baby," he said. As his hand rounded the curve of the small of her back, he added, "Of course, it wasn't the sleep alone that has refreshed me."
"As the saying goes, nothing that couldn't be cured by a little sleep and a good—well, you know."
He laughed. "Yes. I do know," he murmured, then reached to kiss her again.
"Mark," she said. "Clock says five-thirty."
"Bugger," he said. "I was hoping for a bit more refreshing."
"How about a refreshing washing up before supper?" she offered playfully, as tempting as his offer was.
"If you insist on being so bloody—what was that?"
The sharp manner with which the tone of his voice changed startled her more than his words.
She drew her brows. "It sounds like someone's downstairs."
He threw back the covers, put on his robe, and went out the door.
She sat frozen, awaiting his return, nervous about the house being invaded on their first night there, wondering about what kind of security the average Peruvian had if governmental secretaries could be walked in upon willy-nilly.
Mark was back in a flash. "Miscommunication," he said. "It was one of the staff in to bring food into the kitchen. I told them thank you and sent them off."
Bridget thought about the possibility of being walked in on at any time, and didn't like it a bit. "Mark, you'll have to talk to our hosts. We may have different ideas about privacy."
"It's an isolated thing, I'm sure," he said. "The young woman didn't realise we were here yet."
"Oh."
He came back to the bed, reaching his hand out to her. "Come on. Let's get ready for dinner."
They each had a very quick shower and dressed in something a little more casual than earlier, arriving for dinner at the stroke of six. Mercedes met them with a smile just on the other side of the connecting door, then led them to the dining room.
It was exquisite, the dining room, set for four, and an array of covered dishes on the table already. "My husband will be here soon," said Mercedes. "Please, sit, and I'll serve you."
………
Mercedes Santiago watched as Mark and his wife took seats at their dining room table. With a smile, she then began to heap savoury-smelling foods onto their plates, all the while watching the two of them.
She had heard plenty of detail about Mark from her husband. Professional, courteous, and an absolute master in his field, Mark had gone out of his way to make Esteban and his people feel welcome in London, making sure to ferret out reputable Peruvian restaurants so that they might feel at home. Esteban, though, in his frequent communications back to his wife, had mentioned a sort of quiet sadness to the man—"He is a kind man, but has no wife, no family, nothing to balance out his long days of paperwork and courtrooms," he'd said—until he'd mentioned the sudden appearance at the conference of a rain-sodden blonde and an unexpected engagement.
Mercedes had been very curious to know more.
More than three years after his trip to London, Esteban had orchestrated the major anti-drug accord that was now in its final weeks before signing. In wanting the best legal minds involved in the process, he had made sure that Mark was at the top of the list. Mark and Esteban had been too busy to keep up professionally, never mind personally, and when he learned that Mark had been married for two of those years, he knew instantly whom Mark had married, the woman he'd proposed to on impulse at Inns of Court.
This woman, this Bridget, seemed very sweet on first meeting, wide-eyed and full of wonder at their modest home and surroundings; she was clearly not a jaded woman of the world, not like the spouses of some of the dignitaries and officials they often entertained in their home, all business and coolly aloof.
It was not hard to see, as the pair ate and engaged in friendly small talk, that their marriage was anything but a formal arrangement, nothing akin to a business merger. The way he looked at her, smiled at her, rested his free hand over hers, tucking loose hair behind her ear to keep it out of her soup; it all bespoke of the deepest kind of love and affection. It warmed her heart to think that such a fine man had found such a suitable wife. Mercedes felt strangely drawn to Bridget in a very motherly way, perhaps because she seemed close in age to her own grown daughters.
During her reflection on their guests, Esteban arrived with a smile, apologising profusely for his tardiness. "I'm glad you did not wait for me," he said. "Mercedes' cooking should not be made to suffer waiting around and growing cool while her husband is waylaid by bureaucrats on the way out."
Mark said, "No need to apologise. I understand."
"Dinner is absolutely delicious," interjected Bridget. "I dare not think about the calorie count, though."
Mark laughed, then explained, "She likes to track her calories. She labours under the ridiculous notion that she needs to lose weight."
"Nonsense," said Mercedes. "If anything, dear, you're a little too thin."
Bridget looked to Mercedes with a smile, blushing.
"So now I know three things about your wife, Mark," said Esteban, "that she's been to Thailand, doesn't care to use an umbrella, and is far too thin."
Their guests chuckled politely while Bridget's blush deepened.
Mercedes watched as Mark turned his eyes to look at his wife; when Mercedes had met the pair he had been very business-like and professional, but now, in this more casual setting with a glass of wine after a much-deserved nap, it was very clear Bridget was his everything.
"She'd accuse me of being biased," said Mark, "but she's the wittiest person I know, sharp as a tack, and always able to make me laugh."
"You're right," said Bridget. "You are biased."
Esteban chuckled, obviously amused. "She sounds absolutely perfect. Please, make me feel better and tell me she has some kind of fault."
Mark continued to look at her lovingly. "If I had to assign a fault," he said at last, "is that she has a tendency to attract trouble, which keeps me on my toes more often than not."
She looked at him with a playful, sidelong glance, sticking her tongue out at him briefly before apparently remembering that might not have been the most appropriate behaviour for her surroundings. "Sorry," she said balefully.
Esteban laughed aloud, reached for Mercedes' hand and squeezed it tightly. "We serious men need more women like your Bridget and my Mercedes to remind us what's really important in this life."
Mercedes felt herself smiling warmly at Bridget, too. Her daughter Ximena had always been fond of sticking her tongue out at her sister, and though Mercedes felt she had spent the entirety of their youth scolding the girls for it, she found now that they were grown and moved away, she missed it terribly.
"That's enough about me," said Bridget, looking chagrined. "I think it's gorgeous here and I can't wait to go exploring."
"Exploring?"
"Well, I told my girlfriend Jude about coming to Peru and she gave me a guidebook! So when Mark's working, I can go out on my own—"
"Absolutely not," said Mark; Mercedes could not help but notice the stark change in his voice, his demeanour: warm and loving to cool and stern.
"Mark," she said sadly, pouting.
"Bridget," he said emphatically, his eyes dark, his gaze unblinking. "You're English, you're blonde-haired and blue-eyed. I am not taking the risk of you getting kidnapped or worse."
"Kidnapped!" she said, laughing. "You're so dramatic. Isn't he dramatic?"
While sweet and charming, Bridget was, Mercedes realised, a bit naïve. She obviously had no idea of the real possibility of abduction for ransom, and Mark was right to look as worried as he did at the thought of leaving her all alone in a strange country for a good portion of each day. Mercedes watched Bridget's countenance become serious when neither she nor Esteban joined in on the laughing.
"Mark, I don't mean anything more than visiting the town, seeing the sights. How much trouble can I possibly get into doing that?"
Mark's jaw tensed at her question; Mercedes imagined that his answer if spoken might get him into serious trouble.
"For pity's sake, Mark, I'm a grown woman who's lived in London most of my adult life. I can take care of myself," she asserted.
"Bridget," he said, even more determinedly.
"So what am I supposed to do then, sit in our room on my own all day?"
"As a matter of fact, no," said Mark, then looked to Mercedes. "If it would not be too much trouble for you, would you look after Bridget during the day?"
Bridget's mouth dropped open. "I don't need a babysitter, Mark."
"It would be my honour," Mercedes said before things got uncomfortable between the married couple. "I can show Bridget around the city, to the shops, and so on."
At that Bridget visibly brightened. "Oh, well, that would be very nice. Thank you!"
Mercedes smiled. It would be very nice to have the company, especially the company of a nice young woman so close to age to her daughters. And really, for Mark's peace of mind, it was the least she could do; catching a glimpse of Mark's appreciative look was reward enough.
………
Mercedes would never know how grateful Mark was for her offer; grateful that this older, wiser woman familiar with the city and the customs of her people would be Bridget's guardian angel, and also grateful that the woman was so able to easily and graciously placate Bridget and avoiding anything approaching drama.
"Thank you," Mark said also, smiling, feeling completely relieved. He would be able to enjoy his day off with Bridget knowing she would be in good hands while he worked.
"It will be no trouble at all," Mercedes said.
Mark fought the urge to chuckle, wondering if she'd feel the same once she got to know Bridget.
It turned out that Mercedes had prepared a special dessert for them as well, suspiro a la limeña, a custardy vanilla concoction. Bridget as always looked conflicted at its appearance: it looked delicious, but he knew she was in constant fear of dessert going straight to her hips.
"You are on holiday of sorts," said Mercedes with a smile. "You must sample all of our finest dishes, and besides, you deserve a treat."
He watched Bridget smile slowly. "Well," she said. "It is important to expand one's cultural experiences…"
"That's the spirit," said Esteban, who then rose. "You must also try the finest pisco in all of Peru."
Mark grinned broadly. "I'd be honoured. Please pour one for both of us."
"Perhaps a treat," suggested Mercedes. "Pisco sour."
"Ah yes," said Esteban with a broad grin. "I think the lady will like that very much indeed. Excuse me. This takes a little preparation in the kitchen."
Mark watched Bridget's eyes follow him out the door with curiosity, then turned back to Mercedes. "Is it very sour, the drink?"
"No," she replied, "at least I don't think so. It's made with lemon juice but tempered with egg white and sugar."
"Oooh," she said. "Can't wait to try."
Shortly Esteban returned with four small glasses filled with a foam-topped caramel liquid that very much resembled a cappuccino. He gave one to each of them, then resumed his seat with his dessert, then lifted it in a toast.
"Salud," he said, smiling, then they all took a sip. It was quite tasty, a little tangy and sweet.
"What was this again? Pisco sour?" asked Bridget, her tongue peeking out to the corner of her mouth. "Absolutely delicious."
"I'm glad you approve," said Mercedes with a smile.
As they were finishing up with dessert and drinks, Bridget rose and excused herself. "Thought I saw the ladies on the way in here," she explained. "Won't be a moment."
When she left, Mark took the opportunity to express his thankfulness that Mercedes could keep an eye on his wife.
"I truly appreciate your willingness to do this," he said. "She can be a little too spontaneous at times, a little too trusting, and—"
"No need to thank me," she said. "It will be my pleasure."
Mark said, "You say that now…"
"Ah," said Mercedes, with what Mark recognised as a devilish smile. "I raised two very rebellious daughters. Nothing about your Bridget scares me."
Mark grinned. "If you say so."
Bridget returned, precluding further discussion. He realised then how completely drained she looked, how wobbly her gait seemed to be coming back to the table. She did not sit down again, instead saying to their hosts with a wan smile, "I really hate to be a wet towel because I'm having such a lovely time with the two of you, but with everything today, and all of that good food and drink, I'd really love to just head to Bedfordshire."
Their two hosts looked perplexed. "There is no town near here called that."
Mark fought off a laugh. "She means she wants to retire for the evening."
Bridget blushed. "Yes, exactly. Sorry," she said.
"Oh, of course!" Mercedes said, smiling. "We completely understand."
Mark rose, putting his arm around Bridget's shoulders, feeling her unsteady on her feet again. Despite the nap, he too felt the effects of their long travel, and the warm feeling of so much delicious food and drink were doing nothing to invigorate him. "Thank you for a most delightful first evening here in Peru. We'll see you in the morning."
Santiago and his wife rose from their seats too. "Sleep well, my friends," he said.
"After such a wonderful evening, I don't see how we couldn't."
Note:
One of my favourite movie quotes, which inspired something Bridget says:
Roland: Sara just got off a plane from London.
Trudi: Oh, you must be exhausted.
Sara: Yes, I'm shattered, but it's nothing that some sleep and a good f*ck wouldn't cure, as my sister used to say. Ha ha ha.
[Everyone stares]
Roland: You'll have to forgive Sara.
Sara: Oh, it was just… it was just a figure of speech. I've been on a plane for twelve hours next to a crying baby.
— L.A. Story